Two Steps
by firstadream
Summary: Castle and Beckett and a sleepy day at the loft. Naps and snuggling and I-love-you's.


_Pure fluff. No plotline really. Just Castle and Beckett being adorable. As usual._

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**Two Steps**

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He walks out of his study after writing for a solid hour and finds her asleep on his couch, a book open across her chest, one hand curled around the parted spine, the other dangling off the edge of the cushions.

He grins and rubs his eyes, clearing the computer-screen haze, walking over to where she lies sprawled. He loves her on her days off. She relaxes with abandon. Sleeps in. Naps. He wonders if she was always like this. He guesses not. He can picture her younger self rising with the sun, parting the shutters to reveal her homemade murder board, the pictures and questions staring out at her brittle form, the hollow break in her heart throbbing, not letting her sleep, never letting her rest.

She's making up for it now. She sleeps like she hasn't slept in a decade and maybe she hasn't. Not really.

He bends over her now and brushes the hair out of her eyes, leaning down to press a light kiss to her cheek. She lets out a soft sigh, shifts a little on the cushions. When she opens her eyes, they shimmer green in the afternoon light, bright with sleepiness.

"Hey," she murmurs, raspy and soft. Her eyes flutter shut again, a gentle smile curling at the edges of her mouth.

She's adorable. And he loves her. "Hey yourself," he returns.

"I don't want to get up yet," she says, answering a question he hasn't asked. He was about to, though, which makes him grin. She's always two steps ahead of him, even half-unconscious. "Lie down with me for a little."

An invitation he obviously can't resist so when she moves over on the couch, making room for him, he immediately lies down, smiling as she settles against him, an arm draped across his stomach, her head pillowed on his chest.

"You're lazy on your days off," he observes, sliding his palm down her back and back up, curling around her shoulder.

"You're rubbing off on me," she mutters.

"Must be it."

She lifts her head and rests her chin against his sternum, regards him thoughtfully. "I like being here. With you."

He grins. "I like having you here."

"I like falling asleep to the sound of you typing in your study. I like waking up to you kissing my cheek."

"How domestic of you, Detective Beckett." He's half-teasing, but really he almost can't believe what she's saying. He used to worry sometimes that if they ever worked everything out and figured out how to be together, he might not be enough for her.

Page six might like to paint him as a socialite, but really he's just a regular guy who likes his home, likes quiet days where he never gets out of his pajamas. He used to think that might not be enough for her, but he can see now that she loves it, revels in the quietness, the peace, empty days that she can spend lounging around with him, just being together.

"I'm going soft," she says, but her tone isn't sarcastic, it's almost…happy. Maybe she likes being softer, likes living without walls, the walls he worked through, helped to pull down.

_God,_ he loves her. He really does.

"Can I say something without you freaking out?" he blurts out, knowing the question will probably put her on edge, make her defensive, but he's scared to say it again. Even after all this, even after all these months of falling asleep to her and waking up to her, the words still catch in his throat.

He doesn't want her to run away. He doesn't want to mess anything up.

"Castle," she says, her voice soft and throaty and not scared at all.

"Yes?"

"I love you, too."

He blinks at her. "I…You didn't let me say it." Two steps ahead.

"You already said it," she points out and it's true, but that day was the day she died, the day she said goodbye to him for three months. It's a little tainted.

"I want to say it again. I want it to be better. Not because you're shot and I think it might be my last chance, but because I just…_do_."

She laughs, giggling almost, and he's struck dumb all over again by this woman in his arms, this woman lying half on top of him, giggling and happy, pink-cheeked with sleep and _love_.

"Then say it," she prompts, looking at him like he's a little hopeless, like she's hopelessly in love with him.

"Oh." He got distracted. She distracted him with her…everything. "I love you," he says, softly, simply. The truth.

She grins, leans up to press a light kiss to his lips. "Knew it."


End file.
